


Outside the Box

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-06 13:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10335359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: SPOILERS: The Movie, The Serpent’s Lair, 1969, possibly Torment of Tantalusa look at events that brought Daniel to the brink of saving the world





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Outside the Box

White Plains, NY

1974

The recipe called for one and a half cups of sugar. Barbara Warner only had one. Fortunately for Barbara Warner, she lived on a nice neighborhood street, where the kids all played catch in the road and neighbors borrowed cups of sugar frequently. Barbara usually borrowed hers from her next door neighbor, Susan Mitchell. With all manner of children coming and going at Susan and Bill's, Susan herself was always baking something. Borrowing a cup of sugar from her wouldn't be a problem.

Measuring cup in hand, Barbara slipped into her sandals, banged out the screen door and crossed her front yard to the Mitchell's. A group of children - some from across the street, some from the Mitchell house - were playing tag in the front yard. Daniel Jackson was sitting on the top step of the porch, chin propped in his hand, watching.

Daniel had been with the Mitchells for about two months now, coming to them after a bad placement somewhere upstate. Most of Bill and Susan Mitchell's foster children came and went with such speed that Barbara barely had time to identify who was who before they moved on. But occasionally a child stayed long term. It looked like Daniel might be one of them.

"What's up, Daniel?" she asked dropping down next to him on the step. "I thought you liked tag."

"Wos' a toof" came the muffled reply.

Ah-hah. That explained the odd, puffy appearance of his right cheek. Cotton gauze stuffed in his mouth.

"Just now?"

A nod. He opened his hand to reveal a small molar, still a bit bloody.

"Wow. You're getting pretty big, Daniel. You must be nearly out of baby teeth."

"Was' one." Apparently, Daniel found conversing with a mouthful of gauze extremely frustrating, because he spit the wad into his hand, grimaced a bit at the blood and set it down on the step. 

"Really, the last one? You know, the tooth fairy pays extra for the last baby tooth."

He dropped his head then. It was a familiar gesture. Barbara had seen it often enough since Daniel's arrival.

"I'm pretty sure the tooth fairy doesn't come when your parents are dead," he said quietly.

Barbara smiled gently though Daniel wasn't looking up to see it.

"I wouldn't be so certain about that Daniel." She touched his shoulder as she stood up. "Why don't you put that tooth under your pillow tonight and see what happens."

"Okay." He sounded doubtful.

Barbara went inside, seeking her neighbor and half a cup of sugar. Objective number one was walking down the stairs.

"Hi, Sue."

"Hi, Barb" Susan replied from behind an overflowing laundry basket. Two small children and a dog trailed behind her.

"Looks like you've got some help with the laundry."

"I wish. Kevin, Angie, go upstairs and play for a while." The two children scampered off. The dog stayed. "Did you just come in? Is Daniel still on the porch?" Susan continued down the hall toward the laundry room. Barbara followed. "He lost a tooth. I probably ought to check and be sure his mouth has stopped bleeding."

"I just talked to him. He's doing fine. And I promised him the tooth fairy comes even when your parents are dead - so it'd be a good idea to put something under his pillow tonight."

"That's Bill's department."

"Don't let him forget that the tooth fairy pays extra for the last baby tooth."

"Since when?" a male voice said from the kitchen. Bill Mitchell poked his head into the hallway.

"Since about three minutes ago when I promised Daniel."

"And I don't suppose you're prepared to *contribute* to the tooth fairy fund," Bill suggested. "Do you know how often kids lose teeth in this house? It's like there's a sign posted out front: foster children check your teeth at the door."

Barbara grinned at Bill's good-natured grousing and pointed to the plaque he and Susan had hanging in their hall.

A hundred years from now... 

it will not matter what my bank account was,

the sort of house I lived in,

or the kind of car I drove,

but the world may be different

because I was important

in the life of a CHILD.

"It's all about the kids, Bill. You've got it hanging right here on your wall. What's a couple extra bucks when you can change the world?" she teased. Then she handed him a five dollar bill. "Here - that ought to cover the tooth and the sugar I'm about to take."

At a nod from Susan, she went to the kitchen and filled her measuring cup. Daniel was still sitting on the porch as she left.

"Don't forget what I said, Daniel. Put that tooth under your pillow."

"Yes, ma'am."

The next time Barbara saw Daniel, he was sitting in the Mitchells' front yard with his back against the big oak tree. His face was scrunched in concentration as he read a piece of paper. She watched as he smoothed it out over the hard surface of his notebook and wrote something in pencil. He bit his lip, flipped the pencil over and erased.

"Hello, Daniel."

He looked up. "Hi, Mrs. Warner."

"I haven't seen you in a few days. What happened with your tooth?"

Daniel's eyes lit up. "Five dollars!" he exclaimed.

"Told you the tooth fairy paid extra for the last one."

"Yeah, but that's a lot. Enough to buy a book maybe."

"Maybe - depends on the book. So, what are you working on?"

"It's kind of a riddle. Mrs. Sullivan - that's my teacher - said she would give a prize to anybody who could figure it out."

"Have you figured it out?"

"No," he said dejectedly.

"Want some help?"

"Not allowed. Mrs. Sullivan said we had to figure it out on our own. 'Cept I can't. It's too hard. It's got shapes you have to fit together and no matter how I try, it doesn't work. I'm not very good with shapes. I'm better with the word puzzles."

"I'll bet you're great with the word puzzles," Barbara said. She had seen him help Bill Mitchell with the Sunday crossword. "Daniel, come with me a minute. I want to show you something."

She led Daniel across the yard to her own house. Leading him to the study, she crossed the room to locate the book she wanted. Daniel stopped in the doorway and looked around.

"Look at all the books. My daddy used to have a room like this."

Barbara could hear the mix of awe and grief in his voice. She pulled a dusty psychology book off the shelf. "I'll bet your daddy and I would have liked each other. I love books."

"Me too."

"Come here and let me show you this one."

She flipped through the book, not certain she had found the correct one until the image she remembered turned up at the bottom of page 162\. Placing the book flat on the desk, she pointed the image out to Daniel.

"What do you see?"

He giggled a bit in typical nine-year old fashion. "It's the shadows of two people almost kissing." 

"Right, silhouettes."

"Silhouettes," Daniel repeated softly, storing up another new word.

"Now, close your eyes for a minute." Daniel did. "When you open them, I want you to focus your eyes just above the picture . . . What do you see?"

Silence. Then, discovery.

"Hey! It's a vase. The white almost-kissing part between the people is a fancy kind of vase. How'd they do that?"

Barbara smiled as Daniel looked up at her in delight. She sat down in the desk chair and drew Daniel next to her.

"It's all the same picture, Daniel. The two people kissing are still there." He glanced back at the picture and then nodded. "But you looked at what was on the paper two different ways. One way helped you see the people. The other way helped you see the vase. Do you understand?"

"Well, yes - 'cept I'm not sure *how* exactly."

"It has to do with your eyes and your brain. It's pretty complicated. But what I want you to remember is that you looked at the picture a different way - and you saw a different picture. Now, I don't know what your school puzzle is exactly, but what if you tried looking at it a different way?"

Daniel bit his lip. His eyebrows furrowed together as he considered her suggestion.

"Maybe . . ." he said.

"Why don't you go give it a try?"

"Okay, thanks Mrs. Warner. That's a neat book. Could I read it sometime?"

She smiled.

"It's a bit advanced. Even for you, Daniel. But in a couple of years, if you're still interested, I'll let you borrow it."

The next day, twenty-two children were seated at their desks writing spelling words in Mrs. Sullivan's fourth grade classroom when the 3:10 bell rang. A collective sigh of relief went up as they put down their pencils, opened their desks and began packing their book bags in preparation for the final bell at 3:15. Just before the bell, Mrs. Sullivan spoke.

"Daniel Jackson, please stay in the room when the bell rings."

Daniel heard some of the other children snicker and he felt his face flush. He couldn't think of anything he had done wrong, but all the other children seemed pretty sure he was about to get in trouble for something. He hadn't gotten in trouble since coming to live with the Mitchells. He wondered what would happen. In the first foster home he went to, they yelled at him and sent him to bed without supper once because he forgot his homework and the teacher sent a note home. He didn't think the Mitchells would do that. But he wasn't sure.

The bell rang. The classroom emptied of children. Daniel was left alone, sitting at his desk.

"Come here, please, Daniel," Mrs. Sullivan said. She didn't sound angry, but Daniel hugged his book bag to his chest and dragged his feet as he walked to her desk.

"Yes, ma'am?" He lifted his head just enough to peek at her face. She was smiling.

"Daniel, you're the only child in the class who figured out the puzzle. Did you do it by yourself as I instructed?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I'm very proud of you." Daniel let out his breath. "I seem to remember promising a prize to any child who figured it out."

"Yes, ma'am."

"There are actually two parts to the prize. This is the first one." 

She opened her desk draw and took out a chocolate bar. Daniel's eyes widened. A chocolate bar? For doing school work? He looked up at Mrs. Sullivan uncertainly. Maybe she didn't really mean to give it to him. When he hesitated, she placed it in his hand.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said quietly.

"Now for the second part."

Mrs Sullivan stood up and motioned him to follow her to the bookshelf at the back of the room. It was the bookshelf where she kept all of her special books. Daniel wondered if she was going to let him check out one of them. Sometimes she chose books from the shelf and read them to the class, but you couldn't check them out to read for yourself like you could the books on the shelf by the window. On the bottom row of the bookshelf were some books that Daniel didn't remember Mrs. Sullivan ever reading to them. They were all facing out so he could see the front covers. They looked brand new.

"Daniel, you may choose any book from the bottom row for your very own."

He looked up, his eyes wide with surprise.

"I get to choose a book?" Mrs. Sullivan nodded. "And I can keep it?" She nodded again. He crouched down to look. There were books about all kinds of things - sports, sorcerers, presidents, animals. The one that captured Daniel's attention was bound in dark green cloth. On the front it had a photograph of grassy, green plateaus that went up a hillside like stepping stones. The plateaus were bordered by stone walls and there were broken down stone buildings in the background of the picture. Daniel read the title. *The Mystery of the Incas*. The Incas were in South America, Daniel remembered that. Just like Grandpa Nick. 'Cept Nick studied Mayans, but maybe Mayans and Incas were sort of the same thing. *That* was the book Daniel wanted. He couldn't wait to take it home and read it. Maybe Mrs. Mitchell would let him go next door tonight and show it to Mrs. Warner.

At the thought of Mrs. Warner, Daniel's hand stopped, just as he was reaching for the book. He pulled his hand back and then swiped it across his eyes where tears were threatening. He wouldn't cry. He might not be able to have the book, and he would have to give the chocolate bar back, but he *wouldn't* cry.

"Daniel, what's wrong?" Mrs. Sullivan asked.

"Mrs. Sullivan - " He didn't *have* to say anything. He could just take the book and go home. Mrs Sullivan would never know.

"Yes, Daniel?"

"Mrs. Sullivan, I might have had some help with the puzzle. I didn't mean to, but . . ."

"What kind of help?" Mrs. Sullivan asked gently.

"Mrs. Warner - she lives next door - I told her about the puzzle. I didn't show it to her. All I said was, it was shapes and shapes were hard. And she didn't tell me how she thought I should do it. She showed me this picture of two people and a vase and said about looking at something a different way, and how maybe that was a way to learn the puzzle." 

He stopped and looked up at her, biting his lip. She was going tell him he couldn't have the book now. She would ask for the candy bar back. He would be late going home from school and he would have to tell Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell how he didn't do the puzzle the right way and got in trouble. He wouldn't cry. No matter what they did. He *wouldn't*.

"What happened then, Daniel?" Mrs. Sullivan asked quietly.

"I went home - to the Mitchells' - and I tried to look at the puzzle a different way."

"And did you? How did you figure out the puzzle?"

"I thought about it for a long time. And then I thought maybe the pieces weren't supposed to be all flat like they are on the paper."

"So what did you do?"

"I traced them on another piece of paper and I cut them all out. And then I could move them around and upside down and even on their sides and stuff. And I made them all fit together. So I knew the answer to the puzzle was a Christmas Tree."

"And you did that part all by yourself? Thinking they shouldn't be flat, cutting them out, moving them around until they fit?"

"Yes ma'am."

"That's the puzzle, Daniel. You did the puzzle. You did it by yourself."

"Yes ma'am" he conceded, but he still wasn't sure.

"Which book would you like, Daniel?"

**

Later that evening a very excited Daniel Jackson finished his dinner, cleared his plate from the table, and received permission to visit Barbara Warner. He raced next door carrying his new book in his arms.

"Hi, Mrs. Warner!"

"Hi, Daniel. Come in."

He was barely through the door before he started talking.

"Mrs. Warner, guess what? I got the puzzle right. I was the only one who did. The other kids all laughed at me. They said my idea was stupid."

"Sit down, Daniel. Why did the other children think your idea was stupid?"

Barbara guided him into a chair at the kitchen table and fixed a plate of cookies while he talked.

"'Cause it was different from what they thought."

"Because you thought about the puzzle differently."

"Right."

"What did the other children think the answer was?"

"They didn't know. Some of them didn't even try."

"But you did."

"Uh-huh. We didn't have to give Mrs. Sullivan an answer. It wasn't for a grade or anything. Just extra if we wanted to. And I wasn't sure I did it right. Especially not after Billy Thompson and Clark Measly said it was stupid. But I gave Mrs. Sullivan my paper with my answer anyway."

Barbara struggled not to laugh. Daniel was inhaling cookies as he talked, cookies going in as quickly as words came out. It was a wonder he didn't choke.

"And you were right. What *was* the answer?"

"A Christmas tree. And look! I got to pick out a book. It's about the Incas. They disappeared and nobody knows what happened to them."

"I'm very proud of you, Daniel. You did well."

*****

Philadelphia

the same year

Catherine Langford arrived home late in the evening. Hanging up her coat, she saw the day's mail lying on the table near the door. On top of the stack was an envelope bearing the seal of the US Department of Defense. She opened it, already suspecting what she would find. Another denial. 

With a resigned sigh she wandered out to the porch at the back of the house. It was a clear night, and a sky full of stars looked down on her. Something stirred in her soul whenever the night was like this. She knew the answer was out there. But not unless she could get access to the Ring. Every avenue a dead end. Every connection severed. No matter what she did, the government refused to even acknowledge that the artifact existed. But somehow she would find a way. 

Five years ago that odd young man had shown up on her doorstep with his girlfriend, claiming to be the son of her father's colleague. His interest and questions rekindled the fire in Catherine. Then he disappeared never to be heard from again. In fact, when Catherine tried to track him down, she learned no such person existed. Her father's colleague had never had a son; he had never even married. It was very strange. But then, life had never really been normal since that day in Giza in 1928. Despite the unanswered questions presented by the young man's disappearance, Catherine was convinced of the need to get back to her research, her father's research. Her father was gone now, but the Ring had been his life's work. Now it was hers, despite the fact that it was locked away somewhere, inaccessible. 

She knew of one more contact. There was another colleague of her father's whom she had heard was still connected to the government in some way. She would try that route next. Leaving the stars to their work, she went back in the house to place another round of phone calls.

*****

White Plains

1983

Barbara Warner stood on her front porch watching Bill Mitchell shove boxes and suitcases into the trunk of his compact car. He grumbled good-naturedly to the lanky young man assisting him. The young man ignored Bill's It was hard for Barbara to believe that young man had come into the Mitchells' home as a shy, heart-broken child nearly ten years ago.

Daniel was leaving for college. He seemed so young. Even at eighteen years old, with several college courses already under his belt, he seemed too young to be actually going away from home to study. Bill Mitchell loaded two final boxes into the car. In a few minutes he would drive Daniel to the airport. Barbara frowned. A child shouldn't fly off to college by himself for the first time. Barbara knew Bill and Susan Mitchell would do it differently if they could. They had fostered Daniel far longer than most children could hope for. But he was eighteen now; the State of New York was finished with him. Bill and Susan genuinely cared for Daniel and had done all they could to make sure he was ready for the transition.

Daniel turned from the car as Bill slammed the trunk shut.

"Daniel!" Barbara called.

"Hi, Mrs Warner," he said, walking across the lawn to her porch.

"Hello, Daniel. Are you sure you have everything?"

"I think so. Mrs Mitchell said she'd send anything I forgot."

"Daniel, you've been living with Susan and Bill for almost ten years. Don't you think 'Mr and Mrs. Mitchell' is a bit formal?" // For that matter, can't you stop calling me, Mrs Warner? //

She caught a hint of a smile as his head dropped in that sad way he had never lost even after all these years.

"Nothing else ever felt right."

Barbara knew the comment revealed more about his feelings for his own parents than it did about how he perceived Susan and Bill Mitchell. Some griefs never leave us.

"Too late now, anyway," he added, lifting his head with a grin.

"Yes, I suppose so. I have something for you. A going-away present."

She bent down to pick up the brown lunch bag that had been sitting on the porch and handed it to him. He opened it up and drew out a small wooden box. He lifted the hinged lid and looked inside. It was empty.

"It's a box," he said.

"Yes." She waited to see what he would make of it. She was rewarded with a brilliant smile, the one she seldom saw.

"Think outside of it, right?" he asked.

"Exactly! I knew you would understand. And don't concern yourself with people who are stuck thinking inside it."

"Thanks, Mrs. Warner. I'll remember."

"I know you will."

Bill called for him then. 

"Gotta go, Mrs. Warner. Thanks for everything."

She pulled him into a hug which he returned.

"You're welcome, Daniel. Take care of yourself."

Susan Mitchell came out of the house next door as Daniel walked back to the car and got in the front passenger seat. Susan crossed the yard and joined Barbara on her porch.

"You're not going?" Barbara asked.

"No. I'd cry all over him in the middle of the airport. He'd be horribly embarrassed. I told him he and Bill could go and have a nice manly good-bye."

"Going to miss him."

"Yes."

"I meant me," Barbara said.

Susan laughed. 

"If it's any consolation, I doubt he'll ever forget you," she reassured Barbara. "No matter how nuts things got, how many kids came and went, you were always right next door. We gave him a safe home. You gave him things to think about. With a child like Daniel, it's hard to know which is more important. You made a difference."

"I hope so, but I don't suppose we'll ever know, will we?"

*****

Los Angeles

1996

Catherine Langford climbed the stairs in the lobby of the hotel and made her way to the conference room. She was late; the lecture had already started. In fact, Dr. Daniel Jackson was well into his presentation when Catherine entered the room. She listened for a few moments, surveyed the room and noted the thinly-veiled disbelief with which the audience viewed the man on the stage. She stayed until the end, witnessed the departure of the crowd and his hopeless attempts to regain their attention, if not their respect. Then she turned away. Too bad for him. Such a fiasco probably signaled the end of his career in academia. But so much the better for her. 

Catherine Langford descended the steps back to the lobby, certain that Daniel Jackson was the answer to her prayers. He knew the language. He thought creatively. Clearly he was not intimidated by ridicule. She needed him. She needed his conviction. She needed the focused dedication that must have allowed him to pursue answers to his questions until they coalesced into the incredible (in every sense of the word) theory he put forth today.

Her Air Force escort met her at the door of the hotel and walked her the few steps to the waiting car.

"Dr. Daniel Jackson," she said to the officer, "has just finished lecturing. I need to speak to him."

The officer nodded and closed the car door. Catherine just had time to open Jackson's file and review some of the basics when the door opened again, admitting a wet and bewildered doctor of archaeology. 

"What's this all about?" he asked when she showed him a picture of his foster parents.

"A job."

He didn't seem certain about any of it. Started to leave the car at one point, until she reminded him he had no place to go. He heard her out then, but warily. When she handed him the plane ticket, she suspected he took it mostly because it was something to do with his hands. Then he was out of the car and her car was driven away. 

She knew he would come. He had too. He had the answers she needed.

*****

1998

Bill and Susan Mitchell were older now. They fostered fewer children these days, though there were always two or three living with them. There had been so many over the years. Some went unremembered after the passage of time and so many faces. But others were remembered long after they left, even when contact had been lost.

Barbara Warner still lived next door. Her proximity and friendship with the Mitchells still prompted her to share in the lives of the foster children who passed through the Mitchell home. She could recall even fewer of their names than Bill and Susan, but like them, the faces of a few special children remained etched in her memory. She wondered frequently what had become of Daniel Jackson.

One summer night as they all slept, two brilliant flashes of light lit up the night sky. They were seen all across the country. The next morning every news station carried the story. No two of them gave exactly the same explanation. The children who gathered around the Mitchell table for lunch buzzed with theories while Bill, Susan and Barbara set out bologna, cheese, bread and assorted condiments. Maybe a star exploded. Maybe a satellite crashed into a meteor. What if it was aliens?

What do you think, Mr Mitchell, they all asked. Bill Mitchell laughed. He didn't know what it was, he said. But since it hadn't seemed to change the world all that much, he supposed it didn't really matter. Now eat your lunch.

*****

Two nights later

Colonel Jack O'Neill and Dr. Daniel Jackson lounged on Jack's rooftop observatory. Still trying to recover from the tidal wave of events and emotions that had swamped them over the previous few days, neither spoke. It wasn't necessary. The bad guys were dead. The dead good guy was resurrected. The stranded good guys were rescued. The good guys had won the day. The celebrations were over, the briefings complete, the medical exams blessedly over. Life was settling back to normal. For the moment, it was enough to be alive together, watching the stars from the roof instead of traveling them.

Jack took a swig of beer and pointed to a constellation off to his left.

"Orion." Funny thing about Daniel - he had figured out the Stargate and then spent countless nights up here on Jack's roof, and he still had trouble identifying constellations.

He caught a glimmer of a smile on Daniel's face before Daniel replied, "I *know* that one Jack."

Was that a smirk in his voice? What was that about?

"What was that?" Jack asked.

"What was what?"

"The smirk. When you said you knew Orion."

Daniel turned away from the stars and focused on Jack. He seemed puzzled, as though he expected Jack to know this one.

"Orion's the one, Jack."

"The one what?"

"The one that started all of this. I stared at that 'gate for two weeks. Consulted every resource I could find. Tried every known variant of every possible ancient language. Nothing. I was exhausted, running on fumes, badly in need of more coffee. I carried the pot out to the water fountain, glanced over at some airman reading the newspaper while I filled the pot, and there it was, staring at me from the astrology page. Orion. Constellations. We thought they were words. Everything we tried grew out of the assumption that they were words - or at least some kind of language. But they weren't. They were star constellations. It was easy after that."

He looked back up at the sky. 

"You've never told me that. In all this time, I've never known how you figured it out. Actually, I still don't get how your brain makes those connections."

"I didn't either - when I was *nine*."

"Hey!"

Daniel just smiled. They were silent again, watching the stars, reliving the past.

"Outside the box," Jack finally said to Daniel. There was an hint of triumph in his voice, as though he had just figured out quantum physics but didn't want to make a fuss about it.

Daniel nodded. "Outside the box."

// Thank you, Mrs Warner. //

**The End**

  


* * *

  


> * * *

> July 9, 2001  
>  © The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television,   
> Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd.   
> Partnership.  
> This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and   
> solely meant for entertainment.   
> All other characters, the story idea and the story itself   
> are the sole property of the author.   
> 

* * *

  



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